A Decade of Bella
by oohbarracuda
Summary: AH. Tells the story of a love gained, lost, and reunited. Edward and Bella meet again after 8 years apart. Now at different places in their lives, Edward looks back and wonders how Bella managed to affect his life so much when they weren't even speaking.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight.**

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_June 2009. (Present Day)  
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_She's here. I can feel her._

Like stepping into a loved one's bedroom hours after their funeral, the presence lingering through the summer air was overwhelming. My mind immediately began going through the belongings she'd left behind, the memories of us together and reliving them one by one. I drew up the pleasant first - the taste of her lips and the look of innocence in her brown eyes - knowing I very well might find myself collapsed on the ground if I drew up the painful.

"Always tell the truth." My mother had instilled this in me at the age of four after I lied about trying out my sixty-four box of Crayola's on the newly papered wall. Esme probably would've instilled it in me too, particularly for the time I changed the history grade on my report card from an F to a B, if she'd noticed. She was so zonked out at the time, I don't think she would've known a Y from an O. Carlisle knew the difference however, even through a poorly scanned copy sent over the Internet, and he reprimanded me from New York between meetings of business and pleasure.

A grown man now, I still try to abide by my deceased mother's code of conduct. Is honesty always the best policy though? Because I do have to question, if it weren't for me being so adamant about telling the truth, would _we_ still be together? It's eight years later, but I can't help but wonder. If I could go back, I would have tried to take a moment and reconstruct my words so they didn't cut as deep, but it probably wouldn't have done any good. My heart was determined for me to speak my mind with her. The truth would always prevail.

We had the cleanest of breaks. She never tried to make me feel ashamed or guilty for being earnest with her, but she didn't fight to keep me either. She let me let her go. Our breakup was effortless. There was no awkward exchange on her doorstep of my letterman's jacket for her Queen CD, and no carefully drawn up agreement regarding which of our mutual friends were now off limits to each other. We went our separate ways and fell into a post-breakup rut of never speaking.

Her flame for me fizzled while mine kept burning bright. I never even wanted to break up with her; that wasn't my intention when I made the heartless statement that caused tears to fall like rain. I still have her CD. Worn with deep scratches from excessive play, the disc has made the journey with me from high school to college, from first car to first apartment, from youth to manhood. I don't know if she still has my jacket.

Relationships are often destroyed by the restlessness and recklessness of youth, but can I really chalk it all up to being young and naïve? Possibly. Is it an excuse? Maybe. A poor one? Yes.

I savored the robust taste of the whiskey in my Jack and Coke and leaned against the rough edge of the picnic table. She was here. I could feel her. The familiar scent was drifting through the air. Emitting from those chocolate curls, sending me deep into a field of freesia and tying me up tight with a vine of strawberries. I tried to be discreet in turning my head to seek her out, but a knowing elbow from Emmett soon disrupted his conversation with Rosalie and found its way between my ribs. I lazily licked the alcohol from my bottom lip and followed his fixated gaze.

I noticed him first. Dark hair pulled into a low ponytail, he was attached to her like a cancerous tumor. Big and burly, enveloping her delicate hand. She had no complaints, swinging the intertwined evidence of their love and skipping playfully. Past the empty street and the grey ripples of the empty lake, the diamond on her finger sparkled as they approached the park. The realization of the situation made itself known in the form of a hard lump in my throat. This wasn't my Bella anymore, and not just because she was holding another man's hand.

The Bella I knew was the pearl inside the shell. Reserved and bashful, only a select few had witnessed her charming wit and childlike spirit. She was endearingly clumsy, always biting that bottom lip out of nervous habit. Her cheeks were usually flushed a suspicious shade of pink, leading one to wonder if it wasn't the result of an ecstatic release, but I knew better. It was a result of her insecurities, and they frustrated me to no end. I constantly told her she was beautiful only to have it fall on deaf ears. She didn't hear the words when they came from me.

But she seemed to hear his. This Bella had me hypnotized by the confident rhythm of her bare legs. I followed them from the hem of her sundress down to the heeled sandals on her feet. She was poised and carefree; a distinct love for life radiated from her alabaster skin. I watched as she gave his hand a teasing tug to which he pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. Her bottom lip tucked itself between her teeth; not out of nerves or apprehension, but out of flirtatiousness. She was biting back a spreading grin.

I stood cemented in place. Utterly frozen with legs like weights I clutched my drink in hand.

My pearl had lost her shell.

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**Yes, no, maybe? Do be a dear and let me know.**


	2. When I First Saw You I Lost My Legs

**Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight.**

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_August 1999._

I'm waking up in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room in an unfamiliar house. A warm voluptuous body surrounds me. The two of us are wrapped beneath satiny pink sheets, suffocated by the scent of lust left behind from the night before. I try to kick my legs to free them from the confines of curves and thighs, but my stirring only causes the bed to shift, and I'm suddenly looking into bright blue eyes.

"Hi," the latest notch on my bedpost whispers with a soft smile. I blink to focus through ill-lit room. The only source of light is peeking in through the blinds, but it is just enough to put a face to the voice. She is pretty enough. Reddish-brown hair and creamy skin, lips thin and a natural shade of red. She reminds me of a pin-up, but not one you would see as a featured centerfold in _Playboy_ or _Maxim_. This girl was classy, taken straight from a spread in _Vogue_.

"Hi," I respond. My voice is raspy from last night's chain smoking and alcohol abuse. I struggle to clear it and it takes even more effort to return her smile. She reaches her manicured hand up to brush the unruly bronze hair out of my eyes, but I recoil back. I can make out a distinct line of confusion forming between her brows, but I offer no explanation or apology.

I slip from the sheets and find my jeans and t-shirt through the darkness. The small table next to her bed houses a massive stack of textbooks. English, Chemistry, Calculus - all have titles unrecognizable to me. I take a purposeful glance back toward the girl and what I see makes my stomach watery with disgust. Her face is mature. She's a college student, probably second or third year, age twenty or twenty-one. She gives me another smile, but I turn my head. She doesn't realize she's just committed a felony. I'm not in college, nor am I eighteen.

Gentle steps lead me to window where I take a careful glance outside, trying to determine my whereabouts. The street is still relatively dark. The streetlights have shut their nocturnal eyes, relying on the rising sun to add brightness to the world until nightfall. I slip my hand in my pocket for my cell phone, knowing I need to call my sister and have her pick me up.

"Am I still in Forks?" I ask, my back still turned. My phone was already in hand and dialing Alice's number, giving her and Jasper their routine wakeup call.

"Port Angeles."

I murmur in acknowledgement, thankful and relieved I hadn't managed to make my way out to Seattle. Alice wouldn't be pleased if I made us late on the first day of school.

"What's your name?" The woman suddenly asks, sitting up and flicking a side lamp on. She took no measures to shield her perfect body from my adolescent view. I look down at the pink between her shapely legs and slowly draw my gaze up toward her breasts. Small and rounded, the protruding nipples are red and swollen from my selfishness and haste. I hesitate before continuing on to her face, plagued by nagging thoughts.

_Did I make it worth her while last night? Did she even enjoy herself?_

I shake my head to clear it, knowing at least one of those questions has a negative answer. "My name is Edward." I find my red Converse and jam them onto my feet, forgoing tying the laces in favor of getting out of this room as quickly as possible.

"Edward," she repeats, musing as my name rolls off of her tongue. "I'm Ame--"

"I have to go," I cut her off sharply. I don't want a name to put to her face; that would make our exchange too personal. I don't want to remember this woman's name when I embark on my next conquest tonight. It would only assist in eating me alive with guilt.

About half an hour later, I slide into the backseat of Alice's flashy yellow Porsche without a word. Jasper, riding shotgun, turns around to give me a greeting nod. I lower my head when Alice glares at me through the rear view mirror.

"I had an outfit picket out for you," her eyes roam my wrinkled clothes and unwashed hair in obvious disapproval. I fidget, knowing full well I should have at least showered, but I couldn't ask a woman I barely knew to let me use her shower. "It's the first day. Don't you want to make a good impression?"

Scowling out the window in silence, I think about what lies ahead of me for my third consecutive year at Forks High School. The junior year was supposedly one of the most important in terms of applying to colleges. I already knew what was expected of me, and that was to apply one of the ivys and enjoy a four-year stint there before joining Carlisle's firm as a structural engineer. My future was already planned out, which was just as well because I didn't have the slightest idea what I wanted to do. I was hoping that this passing summer would've given me some perspective, but it only served to further confuse me.

The summer had been eventful, to say the least. Alice turned sixteen in late May and got her driver's license the following week. Carlisle called from the JFK airport, not to offer congratulations but to order that she and Esme make the rounds to the dealerships and pick out a car. The snakelike salesman took full advantage of the fact that Alice was an impressionable teenager and that Esme was barely coherent, throwing in unnecessary warranties and upgrades on the brand-new vehicle. The effects of prescription drugs in her system, I don't think Esme even knew what she was co-signing. She was still reeling from Carlisle's confession.

Just before Christmas Carlisle received news from one of his twenty-something interns that she was pregnant with his child. Alice and I knew all along that he was seeing other women, and I have to believe that Esme did too, as she'd been taking Prozac and Xanax like candy for years, but it was always the elephant in the room. Carlisle saw his mistresses on business trips and no one spoke of his extracurriculars when he was home. When he was home to stay for a month and a half this past April, he chose to break the news to Esme. Upon hearing that her husband had fathered another woman's child, she deteriorated into a zombie. It was the ultimate form of betrayal as Alice and I had both been adopted due to Esme's inability to concieve a child.

Now as I said, we were all aware that Carlisle was cheating, but knowing there would soon be a child as proof of his adultery just made it all the more obvious to me that I didn't want to follow in his footsteps. I don't want to be anything like him, but I don't know who I want to be either.

"We're here!" Alice disrupts my thoughts as she pulls into a parking space, easily managing to squeeze her compact car between the painted lines. I stifle an eye roll when Jasper practically flies out of the car so he can open the door for her. Jasper Hale was an okay guy; tall and lanky with blond hair, he'd stolen Alice's heart freshman year. He and I got along pretty well, although there was always an unspoken animosity polluting the air between us because I knew Alice fell asleep in his bed and woke up in his arms every morning, but I couldn't blame her for wanting to escape the depressing atmosphere that was our house.

Mr. and Mrs. Hale welcomed Alice with open arms, as they should have. Alice was pure joy. Petite and thin, her spiky black bob reflected her feisty personality. I was secretly jealous of her relationship with the Hales; I would take warm arms over a warm body any day. She often accompanied Mrs. Hale and Jasper's sister Rosalie on shopping trips. Mr. Hale even invited her along to vintage car shows and Mariners games. Alice had a family in the Hales, leaving me to fend for myself with our adoptive parents. Carlisle wasn't home enough to begin to assume the role of a father, and Esme wasn't very motherly. Constantly detached, she was lonely even when surrounded by a room full of people.

So I drowned myself in alcohol, burned myself with cigarettes, and willingly slept with anyone willing to sleep with me just to feel a sense of belonging. I spent my nights in random girls bedrooms just to avoid my own, and not once did Esme's numb and tired eyes ever take note that my bed hadn't been slept in.

I step out of the sports car and see girls whose pillows my head has grazed. Girls like Jessica Stanley and Lauren Mallory, girls who don't possess an understanding of the word 'subtle. They wink as I pass by and lick their lips, but I stare straight ahead, bored with what they have to offer.

I make my way from English to Trigonometry, from Advanced Drafting and American History to lunch. My body goes through the motions like a robot, my joints resisting like rusted metal hinges, battery dying with each step. I take careless notes and chew on the tip of my pen, highlighting random sections of syllabuses and working out random beats on the title floor with the toes of my Converse. I see Jasper in three of my classes, Rosalie in two, and Alice in one. I'm thankful when they sit next to me, even though I don't say much to any of them. Jasper talks to me about the homecoming football game. Rosalie discusses the routine she has choreographed for halftime as cheerleading captain, and Alice describes in great detail her spirited outfit for said game.

By the time I reach my last class of the day, Biology, I am weary. Assigned seating leads me to the back of the room, in the very last seat at the very last table. Five minutes into an informative lecture about the allotment of hallway passes per semester, the door swings open. The brass knob bounces against the wall with a dull ring. I wonder if Mr. Banner will make an example out of the tardy student and punish them with an after-school detention or if he will try and establish himself as a "cool teacher" and let the kid off with a warning because it's the first day. I tear my eyes away from the design I'm constructing on the tabletop, curious as to what his decision will be.

There is an unfamiliar face at the front of the room. A girl I've never seen before is hunched over Mr. Banner's desk, speaking in a hushed tone and pointing at a folded piece of paper. He states rather loudly that there is only one available seat left and directs her to it with his index finger.

Hidden behind a veil of chocolate curls, the girl makes her way down the aisle to the seat directly in front of me. She keeps her eyes steady on the floor and clutches her notebook to her chest, branding it to her heart. I retract my extended legs so she won't trip over them when she reaches her seat, and she briefly makes eye contact with me in silent thanks. My breath hitches. Her eyes are piercing, almost identical in color to her hair. Her chair scrapes when she pulls it out, sounding excruciatingly similar to fingernails on a chalkboard. Several students hiss to voice their annoyance, and her head noticeably lowers with embarrassment. My own cocks to the side in intrigue.

Loose ringlets flutter like leaves as she sits, sending a sweet aroma floating my way. Mr. Banner talks about his goals for the school year, but I don't listen. I study her. Her skin is pale like Alice's, natural and innocent looking. Long legs are clad in loose denim; worn sneakers are on her feet. Through her thin white t-shirt, I can make out a slender body enhanced by womanly curves and the outline of a black bra. The visible lace strap on her shoulder begs to be touched. I lick my lips and unconsciously lean forward in my seat.

I want to know her name.


	3. No Way November Will See Our Goodbye

**I was going to scrap this. Then I had a creative rush. I do love days like those. Chapter is fairly long as a result.**

**Does anyone know the Forks High School colors? Idr if it was ever mentioned in the book. My bad if it was; I made their colors maroon and gold to honor my alma mater. =)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight.**

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_September - November 1999._

She is Bella Swan. Sister to star quarterback Emmett, daughter to Chief Charlie of the Forks Police Department; every warm-blooded male within our small town has two gargantuan and possibly life-threatening reasons to stay away from her. Mike Newton is the first to brave these odds, followed by the courageous Tyler Crowley. Both are shot down – by Bella, not Chief Swan – and I watch the exchanges take place in the parking lot. They approach her on different days, but they do so in the same way. After school when she is making her way to Emmett's practical jeep, they corner her. Feeling like a trapped animal, she grips the SUV's handle in her tiny hand and her eyes dart around like she is high on methamphetamines.

The result is the same on both occasions. All it takes is two long strides from Emmett, and his intimidating presence is enough to scare the predators away. The relief I feel when I see Crowley and Newton turn on their heels and their faces red with rejection is inexplicable. Bella isn't mine to possess. I have no immediate plans to stake claim, but I can't deny that she has captured my interest.

I spend the first few weeks of Biology class in a trance, watching her with the eyes of a hawk. I memorize the texture of her hair – soft as corn silk, it yearns to sift through my fingers. I soon know she has three pairs of jeans and one pair of black leggings that she rotates throughout each week. Her clothes are of neutral colors, and I can tell she seeks the comfort that a loose fitting shirt has to offer as she seems to buy her shirts one size larger than she should actually wear. A designer purse doesn't ornament her shoulder like the other girls here, but I can see the outline of a wallet in her right hip pocket. When she raises her hand to answer questions and her shirt rides up, I can see the edge of the leather square peeking out. It is blue.

At lunch she sits at my table, but we don't speak. She is at the far end with Rosalie and Emmett, and I am next to Alice and Jasper. I try not to eavesdrop and just let the close proximity of our mouths allow the conversation travel from their end of the table to mine, but I can't help myself. Emmett unpacks his extravagant lunches of pot roast and mashed potatoes like an excited toddler, and Bella's timid smile confirms she is the one packing his lunches. I already know she likes to cook; she sported a flesh colored band-aid on her right hand for three days and on the fourth, a tender pink grease burn was revealed.

Rosalie and Emmett dominate much of the conversation. Bella only chimes in with simple one word responses of "yes" and "no" or rehearsed phrases like "I don't know" and "I guess so." She bites apples and sips bottles of lemonade slowly, seeming to evaluate the sour-sweet taste after each swig with a lengthy stare to the table. She's quiet, that much is obvious, but it isn't shyness. There's more to her than that. I can see substance glittering behind those brown eyes.

The only time we make eye contact is during lunch, but we do it often. I smirk at her because I don't know what else to do. I know she can feel my eyes on her during Biology. She shifts in her chair simultaneously when I lick my lips. My eyes travel between her shoulder blades and seconds later, her back arches. Her Keds kick furiously when I let out deep guttural sighs. When I trace her curves with my eyes and my pants tighten, she squirms. She is as well aware of me as I am of her.

I owe her an explanation of sorts, this much I do know, but what would I say? That she is my oxygen. That she is a drug. That my body yearns for hers. That I am a magnet and she is steel. That I fear I want much more than her body. That I fear I want her heart.

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A mere foot of distance exists between us, sitting across from each other at lunch, but she and I are no closer than we are filed behind one another in Biology. It isn't until the homecoming game in September that I come within inches of her.

Jasper loans me a Forks High School hoodie that I conveniently forget to wear in favor of my own black hoodie. Alice dresses herself in gold glitter and maroon knee socks and drives us both to the stadium. I'm not remotely interested in supporting the high school football team, but my desire to be anywhere but home is so great, it silences any reservations I might have. Alice breaks away from Jasper and I the minute we arrive, morphing into a fairy and fluttering around the bleachers with such enthusiasm, even I have to smile. Jasper watches her with adoration, and he and I find ourselves a spot at the very top of the stands so we can keep a watchful eye on her.

I feel so far removed from everything, like I'm just sitting and watching my life pass by through an outsider's eyes. I hear the roar of the crowd, the band playing fight songs, Rosalie leading cheers, but my mind doesn't separate any of these sounds. Like always, they blur together and numb my brain of feeling. The warm tingling makes me mad, it drives me so utterly insane that I want to get up and leave. I want to take a six-pack of beer and Lauren Mallory's hand into the woods behind the school like I did at last year's game. I want to lick her until screams of my name drown out the boisterous band and the throbbing inside my head. I want her to give me life by letting me come undone deep in her throat. But I tell myself I can't leave Jasper alone. It wouldn't be right. He is the closest thing I have to a best friend, and someday I may ask him for a favor or entrust him and I don't want him to harbor a grudge.

The game progresses, and Alice returns to us with a cherry slush and bucket of popcorn. She sits one bleacher down, directly in front of Jasper so she can loop her arms through his open legs. He massages her scalp with one hand and holds her drink with the other. His gestures prove he loves her more than life itself, and Alice tells him she feels the same way, but I sometimes wonder if isn't just a matter of convenience for her. Jasper means not having to sleep at home and hear Esme crying all night long when Carlisle doesn't call. Jasper means not having to witness Esme popping pills in the mornings on an empty stomach. Jasper means not having to carry Esme upstairs, change her clothes, force her to take a bath. Jasper is comfort. Jasper is security.

I could very well be wrong. They could be soul mates for all I know, and it is more than likely that if my assumptions are true, that Alice does not even realize what she is doing. Maybe it is possible to manipulate the definition of love and make it conform to what you believe it is. Maybe she believes love is feeling safe and secure. Maybe she would love anyone who provides her with an escape from the darkness in her life. Anyone just happens to be Jasper.

At halftime my stomach reminds me that Esme was sound asleep and missed making dinner, so I make my way down the bleachers to the snack bar. The crowd parts for me like I am somebody, someone famous, and I lower my head. Eyes of students and faculty crawl upon me like bugs, knowing far too much for their own good. Their whispers infuriate me. They call Carlisle a lying cheating bastard and Esme a vegetable. I've mentally referred to them as both of these things, but I don't appreciate hearing it out loud from people who have nothing to do but talk.

I order a soft pretzel and cherry slush and take a moment to look around as I wait for my food. Since it is halftime, the cheerleaders are off the field and stretching a few yards away from me. Rosalie catches my eye and nods in acknowledgement. I wouldn't classify what she and I have as a friendship, but I am the brother to her brother's girlfriend so we are somewhat obligated to be pleasant to one another. She's got this infamous long blond hair and a sleek catlike body that gets her a free pass into any party within a thirty-mile radius of Forks. By name or reputation, everyone knows Rosalie Hale. Rumors are just rumors though; she's been joined at the hip with Emmett Swan for as long as I can remember, so I tend to doubt locker room stories detailing her promiscuity. However, while the guys talk about how tight she is, the girls complain about how cold and mean she can be. I can't deny nor confirm this. She's always been nice to me, but I've never done anything to upset her either.

I can spot Alice and Jasper kissing from where I stand; fireworks are exploding in the air surrounding them. Not wanting to get caught in the crossfire, I decide to venture out into the parking lot. Maybe I can find a girl from the opposing team's school. I can sweet talk her until she is flushed and ready, and then maybe I won't feel so alone. I trail between the rows of cars, unconsciously heading toward Alice's Porsche because it is familiar to me and I am craving comfort.

When I am within five feet of the car, I feel…_her_. Something in the air grips me like a vice and freezes me into place. I scan the parking lot wildly and find her two rows over from where I stand.

Her back is to me, but I know it's her. She has a white T-shirt on and worn blue jeans. Her curls are unruly, tucked underneath a maroon baseball cap. If I squint, I can make out the number twenty-three – Emmett's jersey number – on the back of the hat. I hop up onto Alice's trunk and start in on my pretzel. In all honesty, I am surprised to see Bella here. I've only seen her with Emmett and Rosalie, and he's out on the field right now while she cheers him on. I wasn't even aware that Bella had any other friends, but with further inspection, I realize she is not alone. Her back is to me, I know it's her, but I can see him clearly.

There is a fair amount of distance between them, but Bella looks uncomfortable and tense conversing with Mike Newton. He has a large drink in his hand and uses it to make gestures as he talks. His obnoxious laugh reminds me of a hyena's and it makes both Bella and I cringe. I polish my slush off in record time and crumple the paper cup into my hand before sending it through the air. It resounds with a gentle pop against the bumper of a Saturn across from me. I wipe the moisture the drink left behind onto my knees and take another glance at Bella. I wonder what Newton is talking to her about because she is suddenly stiff as a board. As far as I can tell, he hasn't done anything wrong. I don't see anything that warrants me to march over there and intervene.

The salt from the pretzel lingers and irritates my throat, and I cough quietly. The sound is so soft, I can barely distinguish it apart from the stadium noise, but Bella can. She whirls around and finds me immediately. Our eyes lock in the air. My top row of teeth hits the bottom with an audible click, and she noticeably twitches. I let out a low hearty chuckle. It's amusing how responsive she is to my actions, I just wish I understood it better. Is it possible to feel somebody, somebody you haven't said two words to? I suppose I should have paid more attention in Chemistry, as maybe our bodies have a similar chemical makeup. My magnet and steel theory may not be so far off.

Her eyes are connected to mine, so she doesn't see it happen, but I do. I see Newton deliberately lose his footing and empty the contents of his drink down Bella's front.

I am off the Porsche and next to Bella so fast, I don't even care that I may have resembled a mountain goat as I ran. Newton is babbling that it was an accident, but the way he is openly gaping at Bella's chest leads me to believe otherwise. I question whether or not he would've tripped if Bella had been wearing a black shirt. Her white T-shirt is completely transparent. I see her navy blue bra, her nipples hardening. I tell myself its from the cold, but I wonder if it isn't from the desire she feels radiating from me. She is squirming around, much like she does in her seat when I get an erection during Biology. Her arms wrap themselves around her torso to form a shield, and she starts biting down on her bottom lip so hard, I expect her to draw blood.

It isn't my place to rip Newton's head clean off. That deed is reserved for Emmett, who is stomping and causing the earth the shatter with each step he takes toward us. He crushes Bella to his chest with one hand until she whimpers. Then he yanks Newton by his collar as if he were a disobedient mutt and pulls him into the woods.

When we are left alone, I motion with one crooked finger for Bella to raise her arms above her head. She looks confused, but complies, displaying her breasts for me. I know she's embarrassed, so I don't allow my gaze drop below her shoulders. I keep my eyes penetrating deep into hers as I shed my hoodie.

"You're Edward, right?" She asks once I've stripped down to my wife beater. I don't answer her with words. I slowly roll each arm of the sweatshirt down over hers, watching as her eyes flutter closed when I take deliberate sweeps at her bare skin with my fingers. It feels like I am igniting a match with brushes of my fingertips. Fire is burning beneath my skin, and I fear I need her mouth, her body, her taste to extinguish the flames. I hurriedly tug the sweatshirt down over her shoulders and to her waist. It completely engulfs and hangs loosely from her small frame.

"You're Bella."

Her eyes re-open. Lips purse before she nods in response.

"It wasn't a question," I tell her and turn and walk away before she can say anything else. Hands in my pockets, I kick a pebble all the way back to the stadium. Back to Alice and Jasper, back to the numbness.

The following Monday, my sweatshirt is waiting for me in Biology. Bella hides her face when I enter the room, and drops it even lower when I unfold the shirt. I instantly fall in love with the way it smells. Alice and I visit the Laundromat once a week to do laundry because we lost our washer and dryer this past summer to support Esme's habit, and we usually just end up using the detergent they have on hand. It smells like its supposed to – generic and cheap – but the soap Bella uses reminds me of summer. Fresh like flowers, bright like sunshine, I toss the scent on over my red t-shirt and deeply inhale. Bella sighs and taps her toe against the metal rung of her chair.

* * *

We don't speak again until October. Mr. Banner introduces a project and tells us he is going to be pairing us with one other person. Silver with gold, chocolate with vanilla, strawberries with champagne, Mr. Banner pairs Bella Swan with Edward Masen. She elicits no visible reaction upon hearing our names spoken in the same sentence. Perhaps she knew as well as I did that we would be paired together.

"So, we should probably get together this weekend and work on our project," I stand and mumble once class is dismissed. I run my fingers through my hair and shrug sheepishly. Bella maintains eye contact with the ground and nods, still clutching that notebook to her chest. I feel like since I was first to speak, I should offer my house up as a meeting place, but I don't want her there. She's pure. The horrors of my home life would taint her.

I stare at her uneasily and lick my lips, trying to buy myself some time. She reaches out suddenly and takes my hand, pressing the palm flat against the tabletop in front of us. I gasp at the unexpected contact. She clicks a pen against her thigh and imprints her address on the back of my hand. I don't watch the pen make elegant scrawls, I watch her tongue dart out in concentration.

"Come over tomorrow," she says and returns the pen to her pocket. "It's the white house on the corner with the beat-up truck in the drive." Her eyes roll to show her disdain. "You can't miss it, trust me."

I don't sleep that night. I drink and smoke. I shack up in my room and listen to music. Alice is with Jasper, Esme is out cold on the living room couch, Carlisle is away on business, and I am bored. At one a.m., I tuck a condom in my pocket and take a walk down the street to Lydia Ford's house. She is one year older than me, but she is home schooled so the morning after business isn't quite is awkward as it is hooking up with a Forks student.

With strawberry-blond hair and freckles, Lydia is pretty cute, but I mean much more to her than she will ever mean to me. I climb into her window and attack her. I probe her mouth with my tongue until she writhes for my fingers. I stroke her deep with one, stretch her wider with two, and press that button with my thumb. She pants and clutches at her sheets and my hair, and I silence her cries with my lips. Her hands reach for my belt buckle to return the favor, but I push them away. I am bored.

I head home; shower, dress, and carry Esme upstairs to her bedroom. I remove her slippers and tuck her into bed. In her bathroom, I fill a glass of water and empty her bottles of pills into my palm and flush them away. I know she will just get more and there's nothing I can do to stop her, but I can at least do this. After laying clean clothes out for her, I return to my bedroom and listen to Zeppelin until the day breaks and I can leave for Bella's house. Alice is with Jasper, so I have no choice but to walk. I think I know where her house is, but I get an early start anyway.

I smoke cigarettes on the way to Bella's, trudging through the damp leaves and cursing when they cling to my Converse. It's brisk out, and the wind slaps me across the face, reddening my cheeks. I'm dressed in black jeans and the same hoodie I gave her months earlier, but I haven't washed it since.

Even before I reach the white house on the corner with the beat-up old Chevy, my senses are awake. The appetizing scent of bacon, eggs, and cinnamon is traveling down the street. I close my eyes to savor the smell, my mouth watering shamelessly. It smells nothing like Pop-Tarts and Sunny Delight.

When I reach her house, I notice the front door is propped open. I assume its because she's expecting me, and the thought makes me smile. I put my cigarette out on the oak tree in her front yard and jog up the porch steps to let myself in.

The scent is even more appealing inside. I follow my nose through the entryway, to the left and to the kitchen. Bella is standing at the sink with her back to me, hands immersed in soapy water. Her hair is piled on top of her head in a messy knot, and she's wearing gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt. She has 'Bicycle Race' by Queen playing in the background, and she is belting out the chorus right in tune with the flamboyant Freddie Mercury. I watch her with a suppressed smile. She doesn't know I'm here yet. Testing the connection we seem to have, I inhale until my lungs have reached their capacity and then I let the breath out through parted lips.

"Oh!" She squeals in surprise. The plate she was washing drops into the sink with a dull clank. One of her tiny hands clamps down over her heart and she takes a deep breath to steady herself. "You're early," she declares, still facing the sink.

"Am I?" I question lamely and take a few steps further into the kitchen. I truly don't know what time it is. Once the sun rose, I left. I pick up the rind of a freshly squeezed orange and toy with it absentmindedly while Bella resumes washing the dishes.

"I didn't expect you until at least noon."

"I couldn't wait."

I expect my comment to throw her, but it doesn't. She simply nods her head as though she understands, and begins swaying her hips from side to side, from Bohemian Rhapsody to I Want to Break Free. I find myself a seat at her kitchen table and prop my chin up in my palm and watch her. She's doing this for me; she has to be. I sigh; she arches her back. I lick my lips; she reaches up to touch the back of her neck. This game we're playing, the outcome isn't clear. I don't understand the rules and what I'm about to do may very well end our game, but I can't help myself. I have to know.

I drag my hand from the edge of the table to my crotch at a snail's pace and give myself one pressure-relieving stroke through my jeans. A plate slips from Bella's hands as I do so. Her hips jerk almost imperceptibly, and she lets out a strangled cry. All the blood from my brain rushes to my cock, and I give it a hard squeeze. Bella presses her thighs together, legs faltering as if I'd just kicked her behind the kneecap. She turns suddenly from the sink to face me. Her cheeks are pink and her eyes are hooded with lust. She drags her tongue along her lower lip, and I rub my hand along my throbbing member in unison.

"I need to shower," she says hastily. "Help yourself if you're hungry." She runs past me and up the stairs to where I hear a door slam and the sound of rusted pipes creaking to life.

I snatch up two pieces of French toast, a napkin, and head upstairs. I find her bedroom easily. Emmett's looks like a cyclone has blown through it, there isn't a inch of carpet visible. Chief Swan's looks like a motel room, barely lived in and everything meticulously in its place.

Bella's room is simple. She has a purple bedspread and the walls are neutral gray. Floors are wooden, as is all of her furniture. Her bookshelf houses Shakespeare, Emily and Charlotte Bronte, and Dickinson poems. Though many genres are represented, her CD collection is minimal. In no particular order, she has Guns n Roses, Eric Clapton, The White Stripes, Stevie Ray Vaughan, and Frank Sinatra all represented. I pick up her empty Queen case, wondering if she and I will ever get to the point where she feels comfortable enough to lend it to me.

I peek inside her drawers, open her closet doors. I don't know what I'm looking for, but I'll know it when I see it. There has to be something in here, an answer that will help me penetrate through that force field she has built around her. I refuse to believe she's just shy; there is an answer, and probably an extensive one at that, as to why she's so quiet.

Under a thick layer of dust, I find a small photo album with a red leather cover. I thumb through it, realizing quickly that only the first page is filled. She is younger in the first picture; sandwiched between Chief Swan and Emmett, all three are making funny faces and laughing. The second picture is of a woman that bares an uncanny resemblance to Bella. She has Bella's eyes, but her hair is shorter and her curls are less defined. The photo is creased, like it has been folded and unfolded several times. The third photo I realize isn't actually a photo at all. It's a picture taken from a magazine. I slip my fingers into the plastic to remove it, but just as I am shimming the clipping out of place, I hear creaking pipes and the water turning off. I hurry to place the photo album back where I found it.

I'm sitting in a rocking chair in the corner of her room, flipping through the latest issue of _Rolling Stone _when she enters. Wearing the same black t-shirt and a pair of black leggings, her hair is straight; damp and plastered to her cheeks. She shuffles into the room barefoot, patting the moisture from her thick strands with a lavender towel. She flops down onto her bed and I feel her eyes on me as I pretend to read.

"Did Emmett come home yet?" Out of the corner of my eye I see her bite down on her bottom lip. Her voice is hopeful. I shake my head and turn the magazine's page. "Oh," she frowns. "He must still be at Rose's. Charlie isn't here either."

I lower the magazine to my lap and stare at her.

"You call your dad Charlie?"

"That's his name," she shrugs. "Why, what do you call your dad?"

"My dad is dead," I state monotonously. "And I call my adoptive father Carlisle. Or sometimes, I call him a bastard. It all depends on my mood, really." I bring my hands up to rest behind my head and I rock back in the chair. Bella's eyes widen at my nonchalant attitude and her cheeks flush.

"I'm sorry," she begins, "I didn't---"

"It's fine, really." I leave the magazine and join her on the bed. "Let's just get started on the project, okay?"

We work in silence for the first hour. She has her laptop, I have our textbook. I'm not sure what she's researching, but I am consulting the various appendixes to determine the best way to build a terrarium. Bella jiggles her ankle while she takes notes, and I tap my pencil in tune. Consumed in definitions and comprehension questions, our concentration is fierce.

When the sky dirties and it starts to rain, Bella's stress level seems to rise. She keeps shooting frantic glances out the window at the blowing branches and flashes of yellow light.

"Why didn't you drive here?" She breaks the silence and asks with worry. "You're going to have to walk home in the rain."

"I'm not sixteen yet," I say quietly. "Not until March."

"Really?" She says, surprised. "I'm not sixteen either. Did you skip a grade too?"

"Yeah." My answer is automatic, pre-programmed. "No." I clear my throat awkwardly. "Well...kind of."

Bella sits up straight and eyes me warily. I fold down a page of the textbook to mark it and face her straight on, contemplating just how much I want to share with her.

"Carlisle and Esme adopted Alice and I at the same time. They wanted us both to start school at the same time, in the same grade. The only problem was, she was fourteen months older than me," I sigh, remembering how Carlisle had apparently paid someone a pretty penny to let me skip the final semester of second grade and the entire year of third. "I guess technically I skipped a grade, but I didn't test out of it like you probably did."

"Why did they want you to be in the same grade?"

"Planning ahead," I laugh bitterly. "They want us both out of the house at the same time." I lower my eyes back down to the closed textbook. "You know, I know I should be so grateful that I was adopted," I tell her honestly. "Some kids never are. But sometimes I think I would be better off on my own." I don't look up, but I can feel Bella nodding, and not just because the bed frame groans slightly when she does so. "It's just...It's better to know there's no one there to want you than to know the people who are supposed to want you don't." I let my words sink in for a moment, hoping that time will a elicit a response from Bella, but she just continues to stare at my knee. "If that makes any sense," I add quickly and re-open the book.

"It does," she whispers, pain evident in her voice. She averts her eyes even lower to the deep grooves in the floor, and I sense I've struck something.

As good as oil or gold, I've struck one of Bella's nerves, and it is surfacing beneath her skin, ready to expose itself. Silently, I beg her to let me see it. Silently, I promise I won't let the endings fray. Silently, I tell her if she forms a bond with me I won't let it break. I lick my lips and lean toward her. She fidgets and winces before drawing her eyes up to meet mine.

"Why are you telling me all this?" Her voice is breathy, and her eyes are searching mine, darting back and forth, focusing intently on my left and then my right. I hold her gaze until she looks away, and then I tell her. It is a ridiculous response, frankly one that makes me sound like a smart ass, but it's honest and real. I don't want to waste any amount of our time together second guessing myself. I want her to know exactly what I'm thinking. I want my first thought to be my only thought.

"Because you're listening."

* * *

We become oil and water after our project is handed in. Opposing forces, we separate and repel from each other and I don't understand why. Our bodies are still as in sync as ever, and I've found new ways to keep us connected through an invisible string. I tease her mercilessly during filmstrips when the lab is dark; ghosting the backs of my fingers against my length until she is forced to muffle her moans with the sleeve of her sweater. But she never calls me out on it. Not once will she turn around and look at me. Even at lunch, she avoids returning my stares at all costs. In her eyes, I feel as though I am the spitting image of the devil, and it is with that that I wonder if her constant avoidance of me doesn't have something to do with my reputation. I know it is not respectable.

I also wonder if perhaps we are too similar to attract one another. If we are both magnets; if we are both steel.

I don't see her outside of school again until November. Jasper has invited Alice over for Thanksgiving dinner and she tells me he has extended the invitation to me. I am suspicious as to whether or not I am actually welcome at the Hales, but in the end I decide the origin of the invitation is irrelevant.

Alice spends an hour and half buzzing around our kitchen, frying a pan of sausage and chopping fresh cranberries for stuffing. The kitchen is foreign territory to me, so my only assistance to offer is my company. We talk and laugh, commiserate about Esme and speculate as to where Carlisle is. He disappeared two nights prior, letting us know he'd gotten called in at last minute to check out a potential development in New York. Alice and I both agree he is going to spend time with his baby boy who is now two months old.

We both feel bad about leaving Esme alone on a holiday, but it isn't as if she would spend time with either one of us if we were home. Alice and I would just end up ordering a pizza and watching movies upstairs, one of us coming down stairs periodically to check on Esme. High as a kite, she barely knows if we are coming or going anyway, but we kiss her forehead just in case.

We brave the icy road conditions to the Hales where I discover I am not the only additional guest. We follow Emmett's jeep into the driveway and he and Bella meet up with us on the front porch. I'm happy Alice talked me into wearing khakis because Emmett and Bella are both dressed up. Bella looks beautiful in red knit dress that falls just below her knees, and I don't try to step away from her when our arms brush together on our way through the front door.

Mr. Hale greets everyone with handshakes, Mrs. Hale with hugs. Jasper picks Alice up and swings her around in a circle, telling her her burgundy dress is beautiful and that it makes her hair look black as a raven. Emmett openly grabs Rosalie's ass in front of everyone and just laughs when Mr. Hale shoots him the death glare. Bella and I stand back and observe the interactions with forced smiles.

I help carry mashed potatoes, turkey, green beans, and homemade dinner rolls out to the dining room table. I'm unsure as to where I should sit. Mr. and Mrs. Hale each take an end as expected, so I decide to take an outer seat on the right hand side. Bella willingly sits down next to me, but I tell myself it's probably because she is confused on where to sit too. Emmett sits down next to her, and Alice and Jasper take the opposite side with Rosalie.

Before we begin passing the food around, Mrs. Hale announces a longstanding tradition in their family – each Thanksgiving they go around the table and each person says what they are thankful for.

"I'll start," she says. "I am thankful for good health, two beautiful children, and a wonderful husband."

"I'm thankful for Jasper," Alice begins carefully, "And how welcoming the two of you have been to me." She glances back and forth from Mr. and Mrs. Hale with undeniable gratitude.

Jasper is next. He is thankful for his parents, his girlfriend, and the fact that Christmas is now less one month away. Rosalie's list is identical, except she interchanges Alice for Emmett. Mr. Hale jokes that he has raised selfish children and picks up where his daughter left off, reciting a similar list, but also noting he is thankful for his job security.

Emmett takes over next, his voice commanding everybody's attention.

"I'm thankful for Rose, the fact that I led our football team undefeated this year, and my hair," he taps a finger with each declaration. "Umm..." His face scrunches up, deep in thought. "I'm thankful for my girlfriend's parents," he adds, most likely his peace offering for his roaming hands earlier. "And most of all, I'm thankful my mother lost her marbles when she remarried and shipped ol' Baby Bell here off to Forks." He laughs and tosses his arm around Bella's shoulders, ruffling her curls with the other.

It isn't until the words have had a minute or two to sink in that I realize what he means. I turn in my seat to face Bella. She is ghostly white, still tucked underneath an oblivious Emmett's arm. The table is now relatively quiet, the tension mounting with each passing second that Bella remains silent. I clear my throat, hoping to regain her focus, but she remains lifeless. Like a corpse, she is propped up by Emmett's arm, staring at her plate.

I don't think, I just react. I reach underneath the table and stroke a soothing circle into her knee with my thumb. Her tiny shaking hand soon makes its way into mine, and I intertwine our fingers. She squeezes with all her might, crushing my hand in an iron grip. She doesn't want me to let go. So I don't.

The Hale tradition is broken as we dive right into the meal in an attempt to take the focus off of Bella. I let go of her hand to eat, but I clear my throat occasionally and tap my toes to make sure she knows I haven't forgotten about her.

After dinner, Alice and I break the wishbone. She gets the bigger piece and proudly announces to everyone that she will soon be receiving a check in the mail for one million dollars. Mrs. Hale insists on a group picture in front of the crackling fireplace, and she positions our group so the girls are in front of the guys. At the last minute, I wrap my arms around Bella's waist and press her back into my chest. She hums a content melody in response and doesn't push my hands away.

Snap, snap, snap; Mrs. Hale takes two pictures, and then another. Alice and Rosalie both break away from Jasper and Emmett once the flashes cease, but Bella remains still. She doesn't want me to let go. So I don't.

* * *

**Reviews make Edward hold on tight.**


	4. February Made Me Shiver

**In case there's still any confusion, I don't own Twilight.** =)

* * *

_(February 2000)._

I hate February.

Each year I am lured in by the breaks from school for President's Day and before I know it, the month has gotten to me. I'm sedated with melancholy. I'm suddenly wearing more gray and black because it reflects the way I feel.

February is the shortest month, and it makes perfect sense. Any month could be the shortest month, but February was chosen because it is depressing. No one wants to feel depressed for thirty-one days; twenty-eight is a nice compromise for most. For me though, the seductive pattern of dark days dimly lit by loneliness extends well into March.

February's stone is the amethyst, its flower is the violet; both are shades of purple. Royal purple or purple mountain's majesty, Prince's Purple Rain or Hendrix's Purple Haze, a mixture of blue the yin and red the yang, the color should be harmonious. But if you've read the words of Alice Walker in _The Color Purple_, you would know purple to be the color of pain and suffering; the color of mourning.

It's an honorable achievement for veterans of war to be awarded a Purple Heart. I didn't serve my country, I consider myself to be a recipient of one as well. A revolting shade of eggplant, my heart is bruised.

"Ed-wardddd!" Alice sings the last syllable of my name and prances into the kitchen. She opens the pantry and ponders for a moment. Her index finger is pressed to her lips; her weight is shifting back and forth between her furry pink slippers. Then without warning, she whirls around and snatches the half-eaten Pop-Tart out of my hand. I grab her tiny waist in response and she yelps. "Hey!"

"Hey, yourself. Get your own Pop-Tart."

"There aren't any left!" she declares and throws the empty cardboard box in my face as proof. "We really need to get groceries."

"Mmhmm," I murmur in agreement and raise my glass of milk to my lips. Alice had been at Jasper's for dinner every night this week so she didn't realize the lack of food until this morning. I realized it every day when there was nothing but peanut butter and jelly for dinner.

"Do you wanna go this morning?" Alice asks through a mouthful of blueberry pastry. She is checking her watch with a suppressed smile. The watch was a Christmas gift from Jasper, and apparently it's one of those fancy brands that girls like. Prada or something. All I know is that it is expensive, and Alice locks it in her jewelry box when she takes it off.

"Sure. I guess." I finish my milk and carry the glass to the sink. I glance down over Alice's shoulder at her watch, surprised that it is already ten-thirty. "Is Esme still upstairs?"

Alice hesitates before nodding slowly. We exchange a mutual pained look.

"While we're out today, maybe we can stop in the cleaning company by the post office," she quietly tells the floor. "See how much they charge." I nod and load my rinsed glass into the dishwasher. Alice stands on her tiptoes so she can rest her head on my shoulder. I smooth her bed head and give her forehead a quick peck. We stand together for a few minutes; our sides mold together and we commiserate.

It's getting so we can't leave Esme alone. More out of touch with herself than ever, she has doubled her doses and now swallows pills with vodka. She needs constant supervision like a troublesome two-year old. Locking her in her room is out of question, but I fear that is becoming the only solution because she is steadily destroying the house. The combination of alcohol and Xanax has made her violent.

She doesn't even see Alice or I anymore, not even when we are standing right next to her. We ask her simple questions:

"What are you doing?" When the sound of her struggling to pull the couch away from the wall and rearrange the living room at one am wakes me.

"Where are you going?" When she breaks the zipper on Alice's purse to remove the Porsche's keys and I have to pin her down to pry them from her hand.

"Why did you do this?" When I slice my bare foot open on the broken ceramic left behind by the coffee mug she threw at the wall.

"How did this happen?" When Alice reaches for the banister to glide down the staircase and notices two large holes in the wall made by a size seven foot.

We ask her simple questions, but she doesn't hear us.

Yesterday was Friday. Alice and Jasper were at a movie, and I was at a party in La Push. Around eleven Jasper was waiting in the driveway while Alice went inside our house to get her things so she could spend the night with him. What she saw on the other side of the front door made her collapse. She ran back outside and rushed Jasper home. Then she called me and told me to get home immediately. I hitchhiked, leaving blond curls and toned thighs behind.

Alice met me under a sprinkling of snow, shivering outside the door. She was too afraid to go inside by herself. I took her hand and gave it a supportive squeeze before pulling her in behind me.

Our living room looked like it had been ransacked by an intruder. The couch cushions were strewed across the room; vases of flowers were broken and water was soaking into the carpet. Tables were overturned. Imprints of fists were in the wall, and all the pictures lined up on the mantle had been pushed to the floor. Alice stood in the middle of the wreckage, paralyzed and ghostly white. I ventured into the kitchen.

The refrigerator door was hanging open, the bulb completely burned out. Water was pouring from the faucet and overflowing onto the floor. I slammed my fist down on the handle to turn it off and heard a strangled cry from Alice.

Esme was slumped on the staircase. Limbs limp and mouth hanging open, a small dark spot was visible on the crotch of her sweatpants. I jostled her shoulder with one hand and her head bobbed back and forth like a ticking metronome. Finally her eyelids began to flutter and I scooped and carried her upstairs, shouting for Alice to get the phone. This was the last time she and I were going to deal with this on our own.

We called Carlisle and got his voicemail. He'd been on a business trip going on three weeks now, but I saw him driving last Wednesday and he knows it. Alice and I think he's staying with his baby's mother. The baby is his blood. Alice and I are not. We're forgotten.

"So, where should we start first?" Alice asks me when we step into the grocery store. She pulls her hat off and shakes the flakes of snow from her hair. I grab two baskets, one for her and one for myself. "I take frozen food, you take cereal?"

"Alright," I agree and head for the grains aisle. Grocery shopping has become a breeze. Alice usually has dinner at Jaspers, so I am limited to foods that don't require a stove as I don't know how to cook. I pick up frosted mini-wheats, microwaveable pouches of rice, and three boxes of Pop-Tarts.

When I meet up with Alice, she trying to decide between pepperoni and supreme frozen pizzas and talking to Jasper on her cell phone.

"Right now?" Alice bites down on her bottom lip and glances at me with uncertainty. She holds up the two pizzas and I point to the supreme. "Alright, let me ask him." She covers her phone with her hand. "Edward, do you want to go to the mall? Jazz is there now with Rose." Though muffled, I can hear Jasper's voice add something through Alice's hand. "What Jasper?" Alice lifts the phone back to her ear. "Okay. Edward, Jasper says Emmett and Bella are coming too so you don't have to worry about being the third wheel."

My body floods with warmth at the mention of her name. Aside from school, I haven't seen her since the New Year's Eve party at the Hales. I didn't even expect her to come to the party because she seemed so nervous by the crowd at the football game, but she did. I know the precise minute she stepped from the front porch to the foyer too. Upstairs, I was sitting on the edge of the bathtub in Mr. and Mrs. Hale's bathroom with my jeans around my ankles. My cock was hard as hell and enveloped in a warm mouth. The girl wasn't very good, but I came. I came because Bella had stepped into the house. I rushed downstairs to find her, and amidst a group of people fearing that at the stroke of midnight, the world would be over, I found her. Her cheeks were just as flushed as mine. I smile at the memory.

"Okay," I say quietly to Alice. I take her basket and walk ahead to the checkout where I use Carlisle's credit card. Thank God he hasn't cut us off yet; I know I wouldn't be able to support Esme and Alice on my own.

The usual hustle and bustle of the mall is oddly invigorating to me. People weave through others like strips of fabric on a loom, stimulated by cups of coffee from Starbucks and cinnamon and sugar pretzels from Auntie Anne's. They walk directly in front of me, cutting me off as though we are two cars racing side by side on an expressway, but I don't feel invisible. They say things like "excuse me" and "pardon me" when they bump my shoulder and step on the backs of my shoes. Four words, two phrases, but it is more than Carlisle and Esme have said to me in months.

Alice and I meet up with the group inside a department store. Emmett is proudly wearing a Forks High School jacket while Rosalie is makeup free in a tracksuit. They are so comfortable with each other, and it surprises me. A stereotypical couple – the head cheerleader and the captain of the football team – but they are down to earth and real. Rosalie volunteers a few nights a week as a peer counselor for a sexual abuse hotline, and Emmett helps coach wrestling at the elementary level during the off season. It is our junior year, but I have to believe that they are doing these things for personal reasons rather than just a desire to pad their college application with extracurriculars.

"Edward, am I glad to see you," Emmett groans. "Jasper's off at the food court filling orders for six, and Rose here has been dragging me around to look at formal dresses and shoes for the past half hour." He rolls his eyes and dodges Rosalie's smack. "I could use some more testosterone."

"Uh, glad I can help," I laugh.

Alice unwinds herself from my arm and she and Rosalie head straight for a rack of dresses. Emmett and I trek behind them and hang out outside the dressing room like a couple of perverts while they try armfuls of sequins and beads.

"So are you going to the winter formal?" Emmett asks as he leans up against the wall. He looks less than thrilled about having to hold Rosalie's oversized fuchsia snakeskin purse, and he keeps trying to hide it under his coat when the burly security guard walks by. I'm gloating on the inside; Alice chose to carry a small clutch today that conveniently fits in my jacket pocket.

"Nah," I shrug. "Dances aren't really my scene." I got invitations by the dozen each year, but I never accepted.

"Mine either," Emmett shudders. "But I do it for Rose. Lord knows the woman would tie my balls in a Windsor knot if I didn't go."

"I heard that, asshole!" Rosalie shouts from behind closed doors.

"I love you too, sweetheart!" Emmett shouts back just as loudly. "She drives me fucking insane," he mutters so only I can hear him. Then he shoots me a big toothy grin that plainly states he loves her anyway.

"So did Bella come with you?" I ask casually, tracing the part of the floor where the carpet doesn't meet the wall. It's a pointless question, but I'm trying to make conversation. I know she's here – my heart is overflowing with rich pumps of adrenaline – I just can't see her.

"Yeah, she's here. Her phone rang, and she walked off somewhere to answer it." He pulls his own cell phone out of his pocket to check the time. "And that was a good fifteen minutes ago." Concern etches his brow. "Hey, you don't mind if I leave you here for a little while do you? I think I better go look for her."

"Go ahead." I consider telling him it would be easier for me to look for her, that I could find her like a needle in a haystack, but I don't. I don't think he would appreciate knowing his sister and I seem to affect each others hormones in a way I didn't even think was possible. Besides, I can't even begin to explain something to him that I don't fully understand myself.

He looks ridiculous as he storms off into the store with Rosalie's purse dangling from his shoulder, and I can't help the snort that escapes my lips. An obvious homosexual employee has approached him and is stroking the purse with a limp wrist.

"Did I hear you right, Edward?" I hear Rosalie's voice calling to me. "You're not going to the dance?"

"No, I'm--"

"Are you kidding me?" Alice interjects. "Edward wouldn't be caught dead at a school dance. I've been trying to get him to go for the past three years. He's so stubborn."

"I'm not stubborn," I argue, further proving her point.

"Well, I can't say I blame him," Rosalie defends me as she steps out from the dressing room in a long black dress with a scoop neck. "Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free, eh?" She winks before doing a twirl and admiring her curves in the full length mirror.

I fidget uncomfortably, wondering what all she has heard. I know girls talk, and no matter how much truth there is to what they tell each other, it is inevitable that their recollection of our time spent together is different than mine. It's not like I'm some vicious barbarian with girls; I don't pull their hair or smack their asses. I don't shove my length down their throats until they choke, and if they come before I do, I don't guilt them into returning the favor. I stop when they tell me something hurts, but I know I am no gentleman.

I never touch or kiss a girl after I come; it feels too personal. Too intimate. With intimacy comes vulnerability and the exposure of my carefully hidden flaws. When I look into a girls eyes, all I see are my faults magnified one hundred thousand times. For this reason, I can't take a girls virginity. I've licked and fingered and introduced girls to extreme amounts of pleasure, but I can't be the one to destroy what's left of their innocence. I don't think I could live with myself if I did. No girl should want their first time to be with me. I am nothing amazing.

"Well, free or not," Alice steps out from the dressing room in a short and sparkly number. "He should still go to the dance. The tickets are only seven bucks." She spins around in a circle to make the skirt of the dress lift and flutter.

They step back into the dressing room to change, and I am left to twiddle my thumbs. Alice and I didn't get a chance to visit the cleaning company which means waiting until Monday after school as I am willing to bet they are closed on Sundays. We could tackle the mess on our own, but I don't know the first thing about repairing drywall. The only father-son projects Carlisle and I have worked on together consist of helping to carry Esme from the car to the house to the bedroom.

I sigh and fumble absentmindedly with the pack of cigarettes in my pocket. My nerves need calming, but I don't want to leave Alice and Rosalie alone. I shut my eyes tight and thumb the pack until the universe shifts.

The air stills. My bangs stop fluttering and fall to my forehead. The vent above me has stopped blowing heat. The earth is teetering on its axis to bring her and I closer. A tiny smirk begins to spread across my lips and I open my eyes.

Dressed in a men's black ski jacket, Bella is approaching the dressing rooms with Emmett at her side. If he weren't her brother, I would almost be angry with him. His jaw is tense and his head is angled down, lips moving a mile as a minute as he rumbles into her ear. Bella's eyes are dark and defiant, and she's just letting him maintain a rough grip of her arm. She's so tiny and fragile, I imagine her skin is delicate like a peach. She would bruise with the slightest bit of pressure.

"Every time you talk to him, you get upset!" Emmett snaps as they get closer.

"Just stop it, Emmett! You don't know what you're talking about!" Bella yanks her arm away from him. "Please," she adds quietly when she notices me. Embarrassment reddens her cheeks and she begins gnawing on her bottom lip.

I avert my eyes from hers. The connection has been severed. She has a boyfriend; someone back in Florida is lucky enough to wake up each morning knowing his heart belongs to Bella Swan. It's no wonder she's been avoiding me like the plague. I've been hitting on her without words since she got to Forks. I sit behind her and watch her, touching myself like a disgusting voyeur. I must have made her so uncomfortable she didn't even feel like she could turn around and tell me she wasn't interested for fear I'd pounce and thrust into her.

"So are you going to the dance?" She takes a step forward and asks me.

"No," I reply curtly through tight lips. Before I may have thought she was fishing for information and wondering if I would ask her, but not anymore.

"I'm not either. You want to blow this place off and go to the CD store?"

"Umm..." I rake my fingers through my hair. I have a feeling she just wants to get away from Emmett. The two keep shooting each other looks of pure hatred. "Yeah...Okay." I could be anyone right now. She just needs an escape; that is all I am, but I motion for her to lead the way anyway.

"Not so fast you two," Jasper suddenly appears and stands before us with what looks like the entire food court in white paper bags and cardboard carrying cases. I'm relieved it was him and not me that had to walk through the mall holding all of that "I didn't wait in six different lines for forty-five minutes for nothing."

"We'll take ours to go," Bella speaks up. Her tone is sour; her conversation with Emmett has made her feisty. She grabs an orange julius out of Jasper's hand before he has time to react. "Emmett will pay you for it. Come on, Edward," she calls over her shoulder.

"Who is that and what has she done with Bella Swan?" Jasper stares at her open-mouthed as she walks away. I reach into my wallet with a shrug and hand him a five-dollar bill in exchange for a milkshake. "I've never seen her like that."

"It's that motherfucker she was on the phone with," Emmett seethes angrily. "Every time he calls, her personality completely changes. She's either short and cold like she is now, or she ends up crying all night."

I don't want to hear any more. I turn on my heels and follow Bella who is already waiting for me at the department store exit. We walk side by side in silence to the CD store. I can feel the tension pulsing from her in waves; she keeps crumpling her free hand into a fist and her chin juts out when she is consumed by a particularly frustrating thought. When not in a fist, her hand slaps at her thigh as if to make sure her cell phone is still lodged inside her pocket. She doesn't want to talk to me, so I don't even try.

We part ways once inside the CD store. She disappears to the back of the store and I hit up the new releases. After seeing that the store has labeled Boyzone and Britney Spears as "Rock", I decide I've had enough and head deeper into the store to visit my old favorites. Every single time I'm in a music store, I have to look at Led Zeppelin's first and The Rolling Stones _Exile on Main Street_. I own both albums, but I still have to look at them; read the song listings on the back and trace the cover.

"Favorite Zeppelin song?" Bella asks me distractedly. She is now standing to my left, studying the latest Pearl Jam.

"Living Loving Maid," I tell her, stifling my smirk. It isn't my favorite song by any means, but I say it to elicit a reaction from her. The song is about a slutty groupie. "How 'bout you?"

"Dazed and Confused."

"Really?" I don't hide my shock. "'_The soul of a woman was created below_.'" I quote the song. "That's your favorite?

"I find the lyrics of the song reign true," Bella retorts. She licks her lips and frowns up at me. "Especially that one." Her words are jagged and they cut into me like a knife. She walks away, leaving me alone to recover and decipher what exactly she meant. _'The soul of a woman was created below.' _I swallow hard and follow Bella with my eyes.

"There you are!" Alice chirps and skips up to me with Jasper in tow. She's holding a paper garment bag in her hands. "I got a dress!" She lifts the bottom of the paper to reveal a slinky yellow fabric with silver sequins. "Rose got one too. Just like the black one she tried on earlier, 'cept in red."

"That's great," I murmur and sneak one last peek at Bella before showing interest in Alice's dress.

"Are you done in here?" Jasper asks. My lips curl in disapproval as he picks up a Alan Jackson CD.

"Yes," Bella finishes for me. She breezes by us and out the door to where Emmett has Rosalie pressed up against the glass, inspecting her mouth with his tongue.

We go inside Borders next. Emmett checks out the Kama Sutra and laughs loudly at the graphic pictures, commenting with a wink that he and Rosalie should try out some of the positions after the dance. Alice tries to decide between two different bookmarks, knowing full well the only purpose either one will serve is to mark her place in a magazine as she doesn't read books very often. I'm intrigued by Bella's eclectic taste. She brushes the spines of cookbooks, Wuthering Heights, the latest Stephen King, Valley of the Dolls, and an Audrey Hepburn biography.

The Mrs. Fields outlet store is right next door to Borders. Emmett is the only one who enters and he buys a box of chocolate chip cookies. The he proceeds to eat all of them on the way to Spencer's Gifts.

Like hits of marijuana or the Top Thrill Dragster at Cedar Point, accompanying Bella Swan inside Spencer's Gifts is something every person should experience at least once in their lives. She is beet red before we even step inside. The 'ROADHEAD HIGHWAY' sign horrifies her, as does the edible panties and a greeting card depicting a well-hung squirrel. Bella is so...white. The color of innocence and purity; I can't even fathom there being a connection between her and the Led Zeppelin lyric.

We continue making the rounds and wind up at Victoria's Secret. Jasper and Emmett exchange a fist bump behind Alice and Rosalie's backs and willingly hurry inside. I reluctantly enter and can't help notice that Bella is lingering behind as well.

"What do you think Alice?" Rosalie holds up a lacy black and red thong. "Perfect for Valentine's Day?"

"Definitely!" Alice bobs her head enthusiastically. She starts to lift her own lacy piece of fabric to ask Rosalie's opinion when she catches my eye. I mutter something intelligible and look away. The last thing I want to see is what my sister plans to wear to seduce her boyfriend on Valentine's Day night.

"Oh my, God!" Rosalie exclaims. "Bella, you SO need to get this!" She rips a matching bra and panty set from a rack. I start coughing like an asthmatic in desperate need of my inhaler.

"Oh, no," Bella protests. "No...I don't, uh, I don't really...I don't have anyone to wear it for." Her head lowers to the floor and her blush spreads.

"Damn right you don't," Emmett declares.

"So, what?" Alice counters. "It's midnight blue – the perfect color for your skin tone."

"Besides, with an ass like that you won't be alone for long."

Emmett glares at Rosalie for adding her two cents. Bella chews on her lip and slowly takes out her wallet. Alice claps her hands and pulls Bella to the checkout counter. I back up until I am almost out the door. Bella buying lingerie is something my self-control is incapable or unwilling to handle.

At four-thirty, we leave the mall and head across the street for dinner at The Olive Garden. I'm on the end seat, directly across from Bella. Alice leads the conversation, speaking animatedly about the upcoming formal. She's to my right, and when her speech increases to the point of full-blown mania, I bring my arm up to rest on the booth behind her in hopes of soothing her. I know when she starts speaking like that, she's talking to silence racing thoughts. She's thinking about Esme.

Our waiter delivers pasta, salad, breadsticks, and six glasses of coke to our table. I unwrap my silverware and try not to look too eager as I twirl some spaghetti around my fork. I haven't eaten food like this since I was invited to the Hales on Thanksgiving. As I raise my fork to my mouth, I glance up and notice Bella is tugging at the zipper of her coat. My knee jerks and hits the underside of the table. The fork falls from my hand to my plate with a loud clank.

"Sorry," I mutter when everyone turns to look at me.

Bella slowly sides the bulky material from her shoulders. My mouth begins to water for strawberries and freesia. She has an emerald green sweater on with a v-neck. There's a light colored shirt on underneath it, but it does little to hide a line of cleavage. I watch her breasts heave up and down with her controlled breaths. She knows what she's doing; she _has_ to. My eyes narrow into slits of desire. I make sure everyone else at the table is thoroughly absorbed in conversation before I lean across the table.

"What are you doing?" I hiss.

"I-I-I...It's warm in here," she stammers. I swear she's biting the inside of her cheek, hiding a smile, but I nod once at her, satisfied with her explanation.

I eat quietly, only giving my opinion when someone specifically asks me for it. I go through two glasses of coke and I don't look up at Bella again.

"Is it him again?" Emmett sharply breaks the flow of the conversation. I jerk my head up and see Bella looking down at her cell phone.

"No," Bella's denial is barely audible.

"Give me the phone," he reaches his hand diagonally across the table. "I have something I want to say to him."

"No."

"I swear to God, Bella," her name is now a warning by definition. "Give me the goddamn phone or I'm going to---"

"You're going to what, Emmett?" Bella challenges. My tongue flicks out when her breasts press together and create a distinct line that begs to be licked. "Crawl under the table and rip the phone out of my hands? Do it. Fucking do it!" She taunts, her voice strained with the effort of trying to scream through a whisper. Emmett's eyes widen in fury. On the other side of Alice, I can't see him, but I can practically hear the smoke pouring out of his ears and whistling like a silver tea kettle. Pleased with his reaction, Bella relaxes back into her seat.

We head off to a movie after dinner. It's packed, it's crowded; it's opening weekend for Mel Gibson's _Payback_. There are rows of five seats available, but no rows of six. We find one row of five with a single seat behind.

"Don't worry, I'll take the solitary seat," Bella offers snidely and heads down the aisle before we can argue with her. She and Emmett are still livid with each other, making us all watch our words and tread lightly.

I'm sure Bella thinks I planned it when I end up in the seat directly in front of her, but I truthfully didn't. She takes her coat off before the movie starts and drapes it across her lap. I press my clenched fist to my mouth and shift in my seat. I feel her foot come to rest in the middle of my chair, adding a slight pressure to the middle of my back. She slowly begins to run the ball of her foot up and down the seat. I lean back. It feels like she's massaging my spine, one vertebrate at a time. She stops as the film starts, and I let out a shaky sigh.

Twenty minutes into the movie I'm between two couples engaged in some serious tonsil-hockey. I prop my elbow up on the armrest and cover my eyes with my hand. It's nice of Alice to include me in things, but there are some things I'm better off not being a part of. I hesitate before sneaking a peek behind me at Bella. She's slumped down in her seat, knees snug against her chest. I roll my eyes at her and gesture toward the lovesick couples with my head. She gives me a sheepish smile, but doesn't seem interested in furthering a conversation, so I turn back around.

Abruptly, I'm overcome by a pulse. A steady pulse. A steady pulse of blood starting between my legs. It's like my heart has relocated; there is warmth and a consistent throb. There is no building process from soft to semi-erect to hard; I'm suddenly just rock hard. Straining against my zipper, my cock is begging to emerge. The head is swelling and my balls are aching like I've been holding off an orgasm for hours. I feel the pre-cum leak and burn down my length.

I don't need to turn around to know she's touching herself. Her hand is underneath her coat, in her jeans, in her panties, in her pussy. She wet and dripping; my bloodhound nose can smell the scent of her arousal penetrating through the air. I don't even have to strain to hear her breathless pants over the surround sound. She may as well be in my lap, grinding and whispering those sexy sounds in my ear.

My body lurches forward and I place my elbows on my knees. I reach up and pull at my hair, cross my legs at the ankles, clench my stomach muscles into a knot. This is torture. I feel like an addict in need of his next fix. I suck my bottom lip into my mouth and bite down as hard as I can so I won't cry out along with her. She's barely moving, seated between two other people like me, but her index and middle fingers are stroking circles around her clit at a frenzied pace.

"Goddammit," I grind out through my teeth.

"What?" Emmett turns to me. "Don't you like the movie?"

I shake my head furiously, desperate for him to turn back to Rosalie. When he does, I press back into my chair, as if I am pinning myself against Bella. The scent in the air gets stronger; her wetness increases and moistens her slit. Her fingers are working faster now. I can feel her tense up; her body is a hot coil.

"Bella," I don't put a voice to her name; I just move my lips, but I know she can hear me.

She lets out a muffled cry into her sweater sleeve and goes limp in the seat behind me. Her legs cross when she straightens, and more pre-cum runs from my cock as I hear the snap the waistband of her panties makes when she slips her hand out.

I'm furious with her. I know it's unfair to be since I have done the same thing to her several times during Biology, but that was before I knew she was taken. She isn't mine to have anymore; I'm not hers to play with. She can't repair our connection only to treat it like a bridge and saunter back and forth. I'm not arrogant, but I know I deserve more than that.

The air is cold and quiet on the way back to the house with the sounds of Blondie playing in the background. I don't really like eighties music, but Alice's Porsche means being subjected to Alice's ipod.

"Where are we going?" I ask when Alice passes our street.

"Jasper's," she answers without taking her eyes off the road. Whether it is to drive defensively or avoid my judgmental gaze, I'm not sure.

"Oh...How long are we going to stay?"

"All night."

"Alice," I sigh and reach a hand up to pinch the bridge of my nose.

"What? Jasper's parents are out of town this weekend. They won't mind."

"It's not Jasper's parents I'm worried about," I inadvertently remind her of the incident that occurred last night.

"Edward, it's after ten. She's probably passed out for the night."

"And if she's not?"

Alice purses her lips and turns off the ignition. It is then I realize we are already in Jasper's driveway. She removes her seatbelt and turns to face me. Her eyes are wide and determined.

"Is it so wrong for me to want you to have fun?" Her tiny hands fly up into the air. "I know you drink, I know you smoke, and I know you are in the bed of a different girl almost every night. If you can honestly tell me that those things are really fun for you and that you're happy, then I'll stop trying to include you in things. But if you're not happy – and I don't see how you can be – then let me try. Let yourself try." She pleads and reaches across the console to place a hand on my knee. "Just one night, Edward, and I promise you tomorrow we can stay home and baby-sit Esme all night long." She moves her hand up to brush my cheek. "Okay?"

I take her hand and squeeze it, holding it captive in my fist.

"I know why you wanted me to go with you today," I tell her, keeping my eyes focused on my lap. "Why you were so determined to keep me occupied all day." I gaze up at her. "Because it's February first, right?" Alice says nothing. She stares back at me, her head cocked and eyes piercing. "Seven years today," I continue. "I thought of visiting their grave like I always do, but I don't think I will this year." I turn to look out the window. Emmett and Bella are pulling up in his jeep. "I have nothing good to report." My parents would roll over in their if they knew what I've become.

I squeeze Alice's hand again before getting out of the car and helping her avoid patches of ice on the way up the drive. Inside, Jasper and Rosalie are already gathering up extra blankets and pillows for Bella and I. She's getting the extra guest bedroom; I'm taking the couch downstairs in the rec room.

Sprawled out on the leather sectional, I am alone, staring at the ceiling. There's a big plasma screen TV hanging on the wall next to a shelf of DVD's. Jasper told me I was welcome to watch anything I wanted, but I don't feel right in touching anything. It isn't my place to take what I want at free will. It isn't my place to even be here. I sigh and roll over onto my stomach.

Bella hasn't said a thing to me since the movie theater, nor has she made eye contact. I get the feeling she's embarrassed, but she shouldn't be. Whether it was for me, solely for her own pleasure, or a combination of both, it was beautiful. It was the most erotic thing I've ever experienced, and I didn't even get to touch or watch her. I wonder for a moment if her boyfriend can feel her like I can, and I decide he can't possibly. Lightning doesn't strike in the same spot twice. Bella struck me. For me to be the second isn't possible. I _have_ to be the only one.

A quiet creak on the staircase interrupts my thoughts. Bella is descending down from the guest room. I listen to floorboards groan above my head. My radar is turned on; she's a glowing red ball bouncing from the bottom step to the kitchen. She remains still and blinking in front of the refrigerator. I sit upright on the couch and glance at the digital clock on the cable box. It's now twelve-fifteen. My emotions lead me upstairs to the doorway of the kitchen.

Bella is at the sink, filling a mug with water to make herbal tea. She's still dressed in the sweater and jeans she was wearing earlier, and I can see the hard square of a cell phone in her back pocket. She doesn't have to turn around to confirm it's me.

"What are you doing up?" I ask her softly and lean against the door frame.

"Can't sleep."

"Yeah. Me neither."

She puts the mug in the microwave and reaches into the pantry for a box of lemon ginseng. Her eyes are tracing everything she touches, but I am not in her path. I haven't seen her eyes since I hissed across the table to her at dinner.

"Why can't you sleep?" She turns to face me and presses the small of her back against the edge of the counter.

"You know why," I tell her. Because I know she is in the same house as me. Lying awake or dreaming alone, she is two floors above me. "Or at least...I hope like hell that you do." I take two steps away from the door toward her.

"Edward," she whispers. "I'm sorry about earlier." Her cheeks flood with pink. "It...It was wrong."

My jaw clenches. The only reason she would apologize would be because of her boyfriend. She feels guilty; I am a way to relieve that shame. She was only paying me back for times before. It was done out of vengeance; for her own pleasure.

"Don't apologize," I spit the words out. "After all, I probably deserved it right?"

"That's not what I meant," Bella argues quietly, almost sounding defeated. She turns away from me again to retrieve her mug from the microwave. The teabag dangles from a string and Bella dips it into the steaming water. She twirls it for a while, making strokes into the liquid.

The tension between us is mounting. I want answers from her. I stalk forward and rip the mug from her hands. The boiling water splashes out and scorches my hand when I slam it down on the counter, but I barely notice. I cage her in; one hand on either side of her hips rests on the counter behind her.

"Do you have a boyfriend?" I demand. This isn't right, for me to corner and interrogate her inches from her face. "Someone you left behind in Florida?" I'm practically snarling the words at her now.

"I didn't leave _anything _behind in Florida," Bella corrects me with an edge to her voice.

"Then who kept calling you today?"

"Did Emmett tell you to ask me this?"

"No! God, Bella!" I tear my fingers through my hair and let out a deep breath. "For Christ's sake, you can't be this blind!"

She doesn't answer me and my frustration with her silence leads me to push from the counter top and step back. I study her for what seems like minutes, waiting for her to acknowledge what we have, but she doesn't.

"I'm sorry," I say finally. "I thought...Fuck, I don't know what I thought." It all sounds so silly now; a magnet and steel. "I'll leave you alone."

I turn from her and shuffle to the door. I've never had my heart broken; I don't think I've ever had all the pieces to begin with, but I know this hurts. It aches and constricts my chest. This is rejection.

"I feel you," Bella whispers. Her words travel to my legs with the weight of lead, rendering me immobile. "I feel you," she says it louder, finding it easier to speak when she isn't facing me. "As soon as you step into Biology. My heart swells and my body gets warmer. My blood is hotter, veins are on fire. I-I don't know how to explain it," her voice quivers. "I can hear you breathe. It's like it travels through the air in a direct path to my lungs. I don't understand it, but you make me...feel...when you touch your...God, Edward," she whimpers my name.

"Fuck," I curse low and deep. My strides are long and fast and they lead me back to her. "No one has ever...This...What we have..." I struggle to find an appropriate term. "This has never happened to me before. I don't know how to react to you. You make me crazy," the words tumble out of my mouth, unfiltered. I hover and dip my head, lowering my lips until they are a fraction of an inch away from her neck. "I just want to feel you," I press on and murmur into her skin. "Please," I'm begging her. "I won't hurt you, I swear. Please, Bella. God, please just let me feel your skin."

Bella's hands find mine. She guides them from her thighs to her hips in a slow movement and spreads her legs so I can stand between them. Our fingers still intertwined, I tuck my thumbs into the waistband of her jeans and stroke the thin skin covering her hipbones as best I can.

"Mmm," she moans. Her hands leave mine and grip the counter behind her for support. Her head falls back and I lower my chin to rest on her shoulder.

"You okay?" I dig my thumbs in deeper, make my circles bigger and bolder and hedge down past the elastic of her panties. Magnet and steel, fire and ice; she melts underneath my touch.

"Yes," she breathes. "Oh!" Without warning, I grip both of her hips and press myself into her. I keep my head down and slowly begin to rotate my hips into hers. She's wet and alive and burning beneath my hardness, but I'm not going to push this. This isn't about me achieving orgasm or forgetting what awaits me tomorrow at home. I just want to feel her skin; know that she's real.

The tiny vibration in my pocket is a harsh reality. It makes me lift my head and put distance between Bella and I. Her lips are swollen and red, like I've been sucking and kissing them with vigor, and her eyes are completely dilated. She turns away from me and reaches for her tea, but I cage her in again. Pressing myself against her back, I try to make two beings one. I wrap my free arm around her waist and just press against her for all I'm worth. Her tea stays on the counter and her head drops back again with a soft cry.

"Hello?" I answer my phone, a bit breathless.

"Edward?" An unfamiliar voice asks. "This is Michael Hartman from next door. You need to get home right away. I'm afraid there's been a fire."

* * *

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